Drew's Shoes

Last week, as the weather is FINALLY starting to turn warm, I went through Molly's clothes. It's something many moms are doing this time of year--going through drawers and closets. Sorting out the too small stuff, and bringing out the next season's wares. I gathered all the out-grown Molly clothes that are taking over the house and got them ready to pass on at a local Mom's group. On a last sweep, I found a bin of shoes that I carried to the van.

As I got there and put out the clothes and shoes, I realized it had boy shoes in there too--Drew's shoes. As I dug through them, my heart knew instantly which pairs I just couldn't part with. One pair in particular brought back a vivid memory of the day we bought them....

It was sometime during the six chemo cycles. We had appointments in Rochester in the morning, and then one after lunch. Drew and I were by ourselves, Molly was at preschool and then walked across the hall to the drop-in daycare, Josh was at work. My boy and I had a couple hours to kill, and I decided to take him for lunch.

Which was kind of special since we normally didn't go out to eat very often (and still don't, really). By myself I hadn't taken kids to anywhere but McDonald's alone. But Drew and I found ourselves in Rochester at lunchtime occasionally, and so we'd started to go out to eat together.

And I guess I'd say "we" went to eat lunch together, but since Drew had a feeding tube, he didn't eat much of anything. Yet, he was pretty good at a restaurant for a two year old boy who wasn't even eating. We'd go to Chipotle, Subway, and Noodles and Company, one of my favorites.

And on this day, I decided to take him to Five Guys. He was a little whiny, but a day of appointments will do that to anyone I figured. As we sat down, I was excited to be reminded what the fuss over this place was about. I'd only been to a Five Guys one other time. As I started to eat my burger, Drew started the whimper. It must have been deep enough into the chemo cycles to recognize the I'm-going-to-be-sick look, but apparently not deep enough to realize I needed to be prepared at all times for sick. Scrambling, I put my lunch sack over his mouth to receive. And receive it did. I forgot my fries were still in the bottom of the bag 😔

I remember being embarrassed. I bet these people wonder what I'm doing taking him out anyways--clearly a cancer patient, and now he just got sick in a restaurant. I got him calmed down and cleaned up as best I could with napkins, trying not to cry myself. I asked for a rag from the man behind counter.

No one offered to help. But when I looked around I didn't see annoyed or grossed out faces either, only pity (which I've found can be just as upsetting). I collected our stuff, and headed for the van with him. I realized once I got there though that I had no change of clothes for him. Come on Heidi!

Luckily, we were across the parking lot from a Target. Saved by Target! I took him in, puke starting to absorb into his clothes. Drew and I cruised the little boy aisle, and found him a new outfit. I know exactly what I bought that day--the stretchy denim pants, the soft light blue hoodie and dark blue heather V neck t-shirt, and then a pair of shoes. Because he had gotten his shoes messy too.

I took him into the bathroom to change him, and I remember that I smashed his little fingers on the door as we came out. His fingers were griping the edges of the cart and the shutting door pinched them as it shut on the cart. I remember looking into his tear-filled eyes and feeling so bad I hurt him, wondering if this lunch date could get any worse.

But I also remember realizing I really wasn't as upset as I would have been just 6 months earlier. And on the way home after the final appointment, I had a sense of accomplishment, of pride in myself, as I thought about the day.

Yes, Drew puked on my fries at Five Guys, and I had no back up clothes. But luckily, we were right by a Target and bought him some new ones. We weren't late for our last appointment of the day, and we got back to pick up Molly before Josh got off of work. The day had turned out okay. I had handled it. This caring-for-a-child-with-cancer-thing I was getting the hang of, and not freaking out!  I recall thinking to myself...

It was a lunch date and day I'll never forget with my Drew. And these little shoes hold that whole story. They got worn a lot after that day, and got puked on themselves too. I can see splatter and even dried up evidence on sides of the sole.

But they took him lots of places.  Went with him on many adventures.  Lucky shoes!

There were other shoes too, ones I have to keep. Ones that were a part of our story and also hold many memories. Like these ones that he wore home from the hospital, that first time after he got diagnosed. They were his friend Andrew's shoes, as many of his clothes were. Hand-me-downs, that will now be kept for a long time to come.

After reliving that memory so crisp from those shoes last week, I felt the urge to go through his clothes again too, to bring more memories to life.  Last year when I put this stuff away, I could feel the numb-ness.  I put his clothes in bins, along with the shoes, his blankets and his little feeding pump backpack. I knew how much they meant but I just wasn't ready to deal with it, I couldn't look at them.  And I have only opened the bin again a handful of times. 

I still have his clothes hanging up in the closet.  One of the only things I haven't done anything with, that are hanging there just like they did when a little boy lived in that room.  Some still with tags on them, never gotten to, never worn.

What is it about clothes, and shoes? Why do they trigger such emotion? Many moms I know feel a little sadness as they put out grown clothes away. I know I still do when Molly out grows her (or my) favorites. I think we reminisce about all the summer days that favorite sundress was a part of as we tuck it away. Maybe even some tears fall as we realized that a chapter has closed. They'll never be a 2T little girl again, we can never go back...

Going through his old shoes, his old clothes, brings up the same feelings as my peers feel. Except that when I go through his clothes now, it's not because Drew outgrew them, but in some cases that he never grew into some of them! It's a similar feeling, but much, much deeper and a more profound pain.

Why am I doing this?, my head asked as I picked up the first few shirts in his bin. I knew it'd hurt. But, I guess I hurt anyways, I reason. Turning up the hurt to feel close to him, to get to those memories again, seemed worth it today. And, somehow I feel like it's time to go through this stuff. But that doesn't mean it isn't hard.

It's all I have left, I realize as I see some of these pants and shirts that used to be in my wash every week. All the physical evidence that the boy in all these pictures really was here. It lets me visualize his form again, recall the memories that unfortunately are fading, like that day we bought the shoes. I smelled each of these pieces when I went through them, still searching for his smell. I got the picture of him in them and put it side by side it, somehow hoping that the picture, the shirt, my DREW will come back to life.

It's like they are a part of him.  The red "I dig being 2" shirt was a birthday gift--on his last one.  And he wore that shirt A LOT.  The orange and gray monster truck shirt he wore while he sang Jingle Bells in a video I still watch just to hear his voice.  And the bright orange shirt with the palm trees and guitars, his "gee-tar shirt" as we called it (top left), was a part of so many memories, one of my favorites.  So familiar to us, and I'd be willing to guess to others too who saw him in it regularly or in pictures. 

And the first shirt he ever asked for--"googley eyes shirt".  He'd get all sad when he'd get sick on it, and it'd have to be washed. Which, unfortunately happened a lot.

And the jammies.  Oh, the jammies... Just thinking about them makes me tear up.  Who doesn't love fresh-from-the-tub, baby-lotion-smelling little ones?  And Drew was a snuggler...I just ache to hold that little love bug in these pjs again....

I had offers from people to take his clothes and turn them into things--teddy bears or quilts. And maybe someday I'll be okay with that. But I still can't stand to have them altered. I want to hold them up, hug them, smell them just as they were when my baby boy was IN them.

I guess this is another phase. I couldn't face the clothes and the shoes a year ago. And even now, could only take a short time of going through the first bin. But those shoes started something. I was able to pass by a few pairs that weren't all that special to me. There were ones that I could let go of. Maybe the clothes will be the same way. I'll have some pieces I will always hold dear, but will be able to send the rest on. To another little boy to wear and have fun in, get dirty, and make memories.

But until then, I'll slowly go through them on my own time. I know that when Summer arrives and Molly's home, I have less (read--almost no) time to myself. So I'll take these afternoons where I can just sit and hold his jammies and cry for the boy that used to fill them.

When I have days like this, I feel like I'm going backwards. That I don't have any of this figured out, and wonder why I think I do sometimes. Doubt creeps in. Despair tries to convince me it'll never get better, I'll hurt like this forever. I start to fear that I'm forgetting him, as it's getting harder to bring up the memories. I am tempted to feel defeated...

But my head reminds me, the Spirit leads me in Truth, that sad days don't cancel out good ones. That missing him doesn't mean I'm not faithful or choosing joy in my life. I can cry while I hold his jammies, but then put them back in the bin. Put a lid on it (literally and figuratively), wash my face, and walk to the corner to wait for my other precious child to get off the bus. And if I can enjoy her, be present with her, and love her like I haven't lost, then I haven't lost after all. You beat cancer by how you live and how you love, I remind myself again.

I've read that grief is a spiral. That sometimes you feel like you're going backwards--and to one reference point, you may be. But if you are moving forward, then you are always making progress in the spiral. We have come a long way. I don't have these kinds of days as often as I did a year ago. I was able to pick myself up and get on with my day. I don't have to listen to the lies, self doubt, and fear. God has given me the strength, has shown me the Truth, and it really has set me free.  I can have these feelings, but I'm not enslaved by them.

I'll keep moving forward then, on my spiral. Keep taking each day at a time, row by row, clothes bin by clothes bin. It helps me to remember all that Drew went through, and how he kept going. He kept smiling, kept loving. If he can do hard things at the tender age of two, I can do hard things at 32!   

Gaining Sight

I had been noticing that things were blurry for a little while. I'd be ordering from a menu at a fast food place or coffee shop, or find myself squinting to read street signs and would think to myself, I bet that should be clearer than this. Josh kept telling me to go to the eye doctor, who I hadn't seen since before Molly was born. So when I was making him an appointment recently, I made one for myself too.

At the checkup I told the eye doctor what I'd been noticing, that things aren't as clear I know they should be. He said he wasn't surprised things were blurry to me after looking at my report. My eyes had changed a lot since the last time he saw me, and he recommend correction now.

As we flipped through the different lenses and finally landed on the right prescription--I was amazed. I was suppose to be able to read that poster on the wall over there? How much clearer the office looked already!

I decided to order contacts, and hopefully wear them most of the time since I'm out and about a lot wearing sunglasses, I didn't want to have to switch back and forth or go without. But I picked out frames for glasses too that would come in sooner and could be a back up option.

I waited over the weekend and a few more days for the glasses to be ready. I was anxious to get them--excited to see! But also nervous, not wanting things to change at the same time. I like not having to bother with any of it, just getting up and going! I also have a claim to fame I can't make anymore--without ever having a cavity, broken a bone, have any allergies or required glasses, I joke that I'm a perfect specimen! Not anymore..

Seriously though, I do feel like it is the end of an era. I made it 32 years without glasses, but from now on, I'd be dealing with either contacts or glasses to see. A part of me is sad that I'm not going to be the same as I was when Drew was here. I'll look different now, or will now add another step to my routine in the mornings. I know that may sound trite or corny, but when you are a mother who has outlived her child, you do think about things like that. It is another reminder that life is going on, without my baby boy. He'll never have been in my life as a glasses-wearer, and it's one more thing that has changed since the time he was here.

The next Wednesday they called to say my glasses were ready. I eagerly drove over to pick them up. I handed the eye tech my phone to take a few pictures of me as I put them on for the first time (yes, I'm a typical millennial that has to document everything they do...).

Just as I expected, it was so amazing. Everything was so clear! It would take some getting used too I could tell (like looking underwater! Depth perception was even effected!), but what a difference. I didn't wear them home, but had them on the rest of the day. Pictures on my walls, book titles on the book shelves, even Molly's face that day when she got off the bus seemed so detailed! Trees outside were so intricate--their leaves and bark. It is incredible. And crazy that I was that blind and didn't even realize it.

My family has been supportive, in their own ways. Molly told me by day two, "Can you stop talking about what everything looks like!". Josh is teasing me that I didn't even really see Hawaii, I don't even know how beautiful it truly was! I think maybe that just means we have to go back 😉

I've gone a week now with corrected vision. And the more I experience this shift and have time to think about it, I've realized just how similar this is to the new perspective we've gained in the last few years. It's like we too can finally see clearly all that's in this world. From tractors in the field, to the changing of the seasons, and plants in my garden...

Life can open your eyes to what is real in this world. And once the Spirit lifts the veil from the surface stuff that so often conceals and distracts from the divine that really is out there, it's amazing what we can see.

I feel like in the last two years, that is what has happened to me. I am amazed at what I see now, what I learn, what is revealed to me in the everyday things of life since I've become aware of them. Now that I take the time to take it in. If you've been reading along with me these last couple years, you've seen what I mean, you know what I'm talking about.

And just like thinking back on my uncorrected eyes in Hawaii and wondering how much greater the views could have been, I wonder what I missed in life before I started paying attention. How many moments were right in front of me with my kids that could have been so much more if I wasn't so stressed out, or too frustrated to appreciate them?

How many interesting people, wise souls, could I have learned from if I would have been willing to listen? What struggles could I have avoided if I only had the perspective I have now?

And how many people are out there right now who, like me, don't even realize how blind they are? They are so wrapped up in keeping up, staying ahead, being the best "ME" they can be, that they are missing what matters, what actually counts.

This new outlook on life has come at a cost though, as you all are well aware. The price I had to pay, I carry around with me everyday. The loss of something as great as one of your own children is an eye-opener to state the obvious. Is it worth it? Do I wish I could just go back to the way I was before, oblivious and ignorant to the bigger picture?

I'm not sure I'd say it is "worth it"--how could I?  But I know I can never go back. It's not my choice anyway, even if I wanted to. So I guess it's worth the weight I carry today to be able to see the joy, learn life lessons, be awed by His mysterious ways every day.

I know sight from contacts or glasses come with some hassles, some inconveniences. But it's worth it to see the eyelashes on my daughter's eyes.  In the same way, even if I wish the circumstances that brought my perspective would have been different, I would never want to miss all that I see now. 

And will endure the "hassles" and "inconveniences" of this outlook.  The grief, but also the not so wonderful things I notice now.  Because sometimes I see things now that break my heart too.  I overhear conversations at the hospital, I see pain in people's eyes, I feel the struggle that some people are facing and it hurts me also.  I see the good each day, but sometimes I see the bad as well.  But, that has a purpose too.

Now that I've had glasses for a week, I'm really starting to get used to them.

I don't get too far in my morning routine before I am reminded I can't see too well, and I put them on. Or after a shower, when I forget them on the bathroom counter, it's obvious I need them quickly. And one night last week we went to a party and I decided not to wear them, and was amazed at how blurry everything was--this is how I lived?

And it happens like that too with perspective I think. Some days we get distracted again, the veil of worry, jealousy, pride, or resentment conceals the big picture from us. But after we've been enlightened so-to-speak, we can quickly catch it. We realize how silly we're being, how petty. And the deeper world calls us back. At least that happens to me, but I'm so glad I realize it now, and get myself back to where I know I belong.

I hope that not everyone has to be shown what's real in this world in such a dramatic fashion as I've been. I hope perspective doesn't come with the cost I've paid for it to any of you. My hope in what I write is that you'll use what I've been through and take a short cut to some of the conclusions I've drawn from life, that I've drawn from Drew. And with this new perspective, this new spiritual sight I guess you could say, I feel like I'll have material for a long time to come!

So just take the time to look around you. It's not silly and dramatic if you really do learn something about life from that experience of running a long distance race. Or if that squirrel teaches you what it means to trust God for your daily needs. Or the changing of seasons speaks to you about where you are at in life. It's pretty cool what's out there, if we have the eyes to see it. Literally as I've found out this week, or figuratively, that I'll spend the rest of my life finding out.

Spring

Spring is finally here. It was just over two weeks ago that we had 9 inches of snow. But the grass is finally starting to turn green, the trees and bushes are beginning to bud, we finally can open the windows, and enjoy the warm sunshine on our deck.

It's been great for Molly to get outside too. After a few days of going to the park, playing in the backyard, and going for walks, I can tell that this is what she needed in this last month of the never-ending-winter we had here in Minnesota, as her attitude was tough to deal with at times. I think we all are happier now that the freeze has broke and life is blossoming again.

The first warm days in the spring, as I've written about before, feel so good after a harsh winter. I'm convinced its because of the harsh winter that it feels ever more glorious. I've likened it to the joy in the normal things that you find after trials in life have passed. After the circumstances finally break in the winter of a big struggle, you are so appreciative of the little things, happy for the "warmth" and relief of easier times. The bad days make the good ones seem so much better in comparison.

It's what I was looking forward to during Drew's treatment--the "spring" after our winter of such suffering. How amazing "normal" life would feel like after this great trial we were in. But actually, we learned it was really right in front of us, in the everyday. There was joy to be embraced, warmth to be felt, even before the winter of suffering was behind us if we chose to see it.

I wrote an article for a small publication out of Iowa detailing our story through this perspective, how we learned to see the joy, the "springtime" in each day, even before the thaw we hoped and prayed would come. It's my first officially published piece!

Pretty exciting. It's the first part in a 3 part series. I've submitted the second part, and will begin working on the final part soon.

But the time of changing seasons also brings with it a host of emotions in my current season of grief. Last year as each a new season broke for the first time without my baby boy, I had to grieve all new ways that I missed him. Things that he was there for the year before, that we enjoyed together as a family. In this second year, it isn't the first time he's not been here on that first warm day, but it still hurts just as much.

Kids love being outside. Especially little boys. I watched Drew get into everything, push around whatever he could find in the warm months of the year. He wasn't a risk taker, he was afraid of tall slides or being pushed too high on the swings, but he always wanted to be part of the action. He would climb right in to have Molly drive them around in the Gator, hanging on tight.

As Austin comes to life again after the long winter, all the memories of my boy playing outside seem just as fresh as the buds (even though I only had two real years of them). I see all these little boys everywhere and I find myself trying to picture what my life would be like if I had a four year little old boy too.

He'd be driving the Gator himself by now I'm sure (probably fighting with Molly now over who's turn it is). Maybe learning to ride a bike alongside Molly this spring. I'm sure the playset would be getting much more use than it is now, as I look out at it in the mid-morning sunshine, empty. No little boy climbing up the ladder, or hanging from the handle bars. Just a lawn mower Drew loved to push around that Molly left out from the weekend...

This was HIS time of year. He didn't like cold weather, was not the first out to play in the snow. But when it was nice--he'd make a break for his shopping cart every time we got home to push it up and down the sidewalks if I didn't catch him. In fact, I went to find a still shot of him and the shopping cart, but all I have are videos--he didn't sit still long enough to take a photo!

Oh I miss that little boy. As the weather brings up all these memories, and the little boys at the park make me envision a life that was never meant to be, I miss him. I miss his smile. His playful/teasing attitude. I miss his energy, his clowning around. I miss his gentle touch, his snuggles before bed. I miss seeing him interacting with others, and watch the joy he brought to them. I'm left again asking God why, why did it have to be this way...

In this second year, I can see what I was warned about. Passing the one year mark doesn't magically make it easier. The heartache hasn't changed much. I'm just more used to it. I am just better at handling it, and still being able to function. I remember the first nice day in the spring last year, and how I just could not stop crying. I can stop myself this year, but it still hurts, I feel just as incomplete.

I've been able to function though, and even more than that. It's been a joy to see Molly learn to ride a bike without training wheels. It's been an experience--let me tell you. She's a pretty determined, headstrong girl. She gets frustrated and mad before she gets something! But the wonder in her eyes as she rode for the first time by herself was worth the tears. It was just like when she read her first book! She's growing in so many ways right now, it's amazing to witness and be a part of.

Sometimes I'm tempted to think we never got that spring I wrote about, that we waited so patiently for during the winter of cancer treatment with our two year old. Instead, it seems we've been plunged into a new winter of grief. But since we learned how to find the joy, the spring, in each day during that winter of treatment, we are able to find the joy in each day of this winter too--like the first spin around the block on two wheels.

And the glorious sunshine, the warm breezes this week after such a long winter for us here in the Bold North, makes me all the more hopeful for the ultimate spring. That's what we're waiting for this time, I've decided. When the winter that is this life with all it's heartaches is over, and our souls finally thaw from the struggles we've face. How glorious God's glory will feel, even better than the sunshine! How comforting that warm Heavenly breeze will be indeed the day the brokenness in each of is completely healed. 

Drew's already in that springtime. His spring has come, and I'm sure he's enjoying every minute of it! Running with his new pack of friends, playing at the parks, driving gators...maybe even pushing a new shopping cart, up and down the sidewalks of Heaven ❤ (I found a still of him!)

Making the Best of It

Our loss, will be a part of everything we do, everything we experience, for a while if not our whole lives. Because we'll never stop loving Drew, we'll never stop missing him. But I think as I begin to expect the sadness, get better at acknowledging it and incorporating it in to my experiences without taking away from my joy, I will be doing the best I can after such a tragedy.

Our first fundraiser for Warrior Wagons was one of those experiences. Josh and I spent so much time and energy planning and organizing the event, that I didn't really think about and prepare to feel our loss as heavy as I did through it.

I somehow was surprised that as the big day approached it felt a lot like a "first", like the many we've gone through since Drew's death. The familiar buildup began in the few days before the event. I started feeling the mixed emotions, the internal struggle of embracing and allowing the joy/excitement for our big night, while at the same time enduring the heartache, the missing of our little boy.

For some reason, I seem to still catch myself feeling excited or happy and feel guilty or that I'm being inappropriate somehow. How can you smile and have a party, don't you even remember what brought you here, that your son died?? Don't you even care what happened? my heart seems to ask.

I worked to set it straight--my head knows better. I know I haven't forgotten. I know I wouldn't have chosen this path, that I never would rather have it this way. I would give anything if I could only have my Drew back, totally healed. Being excited and pleased by what we're doing doesn't take away from that, doesn't make that any less true.

And really, I know that no one else thinks those things. I'm pretty confident no one else wonders if we've forgotten, if we somehow would rather have it this way. Why do I do this to myself? Prayerfully, I'll need to continue to dismiss these thoughts as they pop into my head, as they try to take away my joy. It's what the Bible calls "taking every thought captive" I've decided, what that means in real life. Stopping myself right there and granting permission to be happy even in the midst of our grief...




And then the day came, and it was so wonderful. I think I can say that it was a great event from all the accounts. So many told us how well it was planned, how much fun their kids had, and how good the food was! Which was so nice to hear, after spending so much time working to make it happen in the last few months.

It was so fun to see it come to life after planning it for so long. The face painting, kids carnival games, jugglers--all came together to create a really fun atmosphere along with the "adult" stuff on the fundraising side.

And plans not only came to life, but grew beyond what we imagined. The silent auction ended up having 60 items, and we even added a raffle! Outside, the one tractor that was planned to give kids rides turned into three!

A firetruck and police car made it a party in the parking lot, in addition to the party going on inside.

But what really made it was the people. By 5:15 the place was hoppin', and it stayed that way until after our program was done at 7:30. It was so amazing to see people from every area of our lives, and all parts of the community. We even had a Warrior there with her extended family! It all added up to be just breathtaking. The stories people told me, the way Warrior Wagons has inspired them, it was just awesome.

Josh and I had set a goal at the beginning of our planning at $20,000. I have to admit, I was hesitant to commit to that goal--it seemed like too much. Too high of a number. But I got behind it, and we went to work. And at the end of the day, minus expenses, Warrior Wagons took in $26,000!! It is truly amazing, and humbling. I'm still in awe of what a community can do, what GOD can, do with willing hands and open hearts.

Yet, my heart was feeling the empty space without my Drew. It ached for the little boy that wasn't getting to ride in a tractor, or have a fire hat placed on his head. What would he have gotten painted on his cheek? I missed my Drew. And I know he would have had a blast at the party, he did have a blast at the Make-a-Wish reveal party which we kind of modeled the kid part of our fundraiser after!

And apparently I wasn't the only one. So many in our community who followed our story, felt like they knew Drew even if they'd never met him. And some shared with me at the event or after it that they felt the loss, the void without Drew, right along with us. It was comforting in a way to hear, that others missed him too. And a few went on to share that they felt Drew there with us, which was even more comforting. I did too!

I realized that the undertone of sadness some were feeling that night wasn't all about Drew either. As I watched the sideshow run through showing some kids who have received a Warrior Wagon in the last year, my heart ached for them too. I know what those kids have had to experience. I feel for their mothers who have had to watch, helpless as their babies fight for their lives. I hate that this has to happen in the first place.

I wish that children didn't get cancer and would never be in need of a Warrior Wagon. It breaks my heart that we have already learned that one child who received a Warrior Wagon has joined Drew in Heaven, meaning another family has to go on without one of their littlest members. Childhood cancer really is a sad, terrible thing.


But, there is Hope.

We can have a party, and celebrate the smiles. We can come together as a community and provide for these families. We are able to show families just like ours, that people care, and they aren't fighting alone. And that, is huge. It's all we can do.

We can't change what has happened, or the terrible things that are in the world, but we can choose to make the best of it. We can choose joy instead of despair. Which doesn't mean that we deny the obvious sadness, or that we pretend it doesn't exist. But like I said above about my life after Drew's death, if we all can learn to incorporate the sadness into our experiences in a way that doesn't take away from our joy, then we're doing the best we can in this tragic world. Not allowing cancer to win in our lives, or in our community. We will be following a special little boy named Drew's amazing example of smiling, even as we endure.

And I think that's just what we did last Friday night.   

The LIttle Things

We continue to be busy working on our upcoming fundraiser for our nonprofit, Warrior Wagons, INC. And we are seeing such success already with local business sponsors, products/services donated for the event, and individuals contributing silent auction baskets and volunteering to help. It's amazing, really. I honestly didn't expect to have this much support, for it to be this easy to gather this community behind us.

It's also been a lot of work too, yet God continues to send me encouragement, just when I need it. In the last few weeks we heard from a couple different families that recently received a Warrior Wagon, and it was such a huge reminder and reinforcement of just what this is all about.

One Mom shared that she cried when the staff brought in their Warrior Wagon. To see her child happy and to see the care that was put into selecting the items which she knew would be so useful, caused her to be overwhelmed with emotion. Another mom described her Warrior Wagon as "life changing" to someone I know who chatted with her at St Mary's...

Wow. That really got me, and made me cry too. On one hand, because I'm so grateful that we can do this for people--that through God's grace and other's generosity we get to make those moments for these families.

But mostly, because I understand just why some cry when they get a seemingly simple thing like a collapsible wagon. It may seem dramatic or over the top--but I know where the tears come from, why it matters so much, because I have been just where they are.

When you are so beaten down, so desperate for anything positive in a world that seems so unfair and cruel as you watch your precious baby endure things no one should have too, small gestures matter. And they strike you so deep because it gives you just a little hope, that there still is good in the world. That people do care. And you embrace the joy it brings, even if just for a few minutes, because it may be the only few minutes of happiness you feel all day.

I remember when a family brought a gift to Drew early in his treatment. We'd met them in the play room at St Mary's earlier that day, this family was there with their own child going through a brain surgery. But they came to our room a little later with a small stuffed frog for Drew. It was that thoughtful gift from a virtual stranger who was in the middle of her own struggle, that brought me to tears almost exactly two years ago. I sat with my Drew, watching him play with it in his bed, hooked up to 3 different tubes from his IV pole, one filling him with antibiotics we prayed would work on his infection, so very touched by the love that little frog represented. Someone knew what this is like, and cares.

I remember how excited I was all day for a couple of my best friends to visit me and take me to supper when I'd been staying with Drew all week at the hospital alone. I remember when one of those same dear friends gave ME our wagon to haul my Drew around and it was the most useful thing. Pizza anonymously delivered to our house, my favorite popcorn being shipped to me, a friend who sent me flowers after we got the really bad news...I could go on and on sharing the kind things others did for us in the last two years! And each thing I can specifically recall, and remember how much it meant to me.

 

These last couple weeks hearing from some of our new Warrior Wagon families really affected me because I've been just where these mothers are. I know how much small gestures of kindness from others really can make all the difference in your life. It was powerful to be reminded that there are moms just like the me of 2 years ago, so desperate for something good in such an awful world. And I'm left wishing I could do more than just offer them a Wagon and the possibility of companionship.  I cry for them because I was them, and I know how very hard it is. 

And yet, because I've been there, I know that what seems like a little thing like a collapsible wagon, really can make a difference. So as I have continued to ask for support, plan entertainment, organize volunteers this week, I have this renewed sense of purpose. Maybe we aren't changing the world through our Warrior Wagons, but I know we are changing some family's world, even if just in a small way. THAT's why we are working so hard right now.

And the reality is, it's not just moms of cancer kids at the hospital that are in that desperate state for something good. It could be the lady in front of me at the grocery store, who may be going through a nasty divorce and her whole world is crashing down. Or a woman beside me at a Y class that just miscarried, again, and is consumed with disappointment and frustration. Maybe the person that just cut me off after the stop light has just lost his job, and the fear of what-am-I-going-to-do has him too distracted to follow basic traffic laws. My point is, we just don't know where others are at in their lives, whether one nice compliment or some kind words will be what saves their heart that day.

In a way, it's almost easier to give to those obviously in need, but what about the ones like those examples above that are suffering and no one knows about it? That's why we need to remember how deep the little things can penetrate and do those small act of kindness. Bring someone a coffee. Offer to watch their kids for 2 hours. Take them a meal. Offer a compliment, give people the benefit of the doubt. A simple text saying that you are thinking of someone this morning really can help.

If you're fortunate enough to have never been in that place where something nice someone does for you makes you cry, changes your outlook on life in a moment, you probably will be there someday. And then you'll understand why the little things really do matter. So slow down, look around you, and do what you can, not overlooking the little things.

I remember a day after we were told Drew "probably" wouldn't make it, and we were inpatient doing the clinical trial that would eventually fail. Someone had left gourmet coffee in the floor kitchenette--what a treat! Bingo was going on in the playroom and I decided to play a card while Drew played himself. I sipped the actually good tasting coffee, and I remember thinking how ridiculous it was that something like good coffee could be such a big deal, could have such an effect on my mood, but it did. And that morning I spent with my son, in what I was unaware were his final weeks, I drank my flavored coffee, and my life was a little brighter. I don't know who brought it in that day, but I hope they someday know how much we all on Mary Brigh 3 appreciated it.

Don't brush off the little things you can do for someone else.

May I never forget where I've been. May I never go too long, get too comfortable or too busy in my life to not appreciating the little things, and may I freely give the kind gestures I can in my everyday life. May I be a light that so many were to me, reminding others that there is still good in this world, even when the ugly is all they seem to see. People do care, and there is hope. May I never forget, and may you too always be conscious of the little things that make up each day, which in turn, make up our whole lives.

*** If you haven't heard about our fundraiser, or want to know more about Warrior Wagons, INC., check out our Facebook page, https://www.facebook.com/WarriorWagonsINC/ or website,  www.warriorwagonsinc.com  ****